


Give This Man a Hug

by need_more_meta



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Boy Does Steve Rogers Get a Hug, Domestic Avengers, Domestic Fluff, Drunk Steve Rogers, Fluff, Gen, Steve Rogers Gets a Hug, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, Touch-Starved, btw Loki Needs a Hug too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:15:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22053145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/need_more_meta/pseuds/need_more_meta
Summary: Thor strolls into the Avengers Compound with a load of beer, and no one can refuse an impromptu party. He also brings a flask of alien liquor for certain superhumans who are immune to earthly alcohol.Which is how they all learn a secret about Steve Rogers, namely: how much this man needs a goddamn hug.
Relationships: Background Implied/Hinted James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 28
Kudos: 233





	Give This Man a Hug

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this [tweet](https://twitter.com/sunIightsteve/status/1211435071980343301).
> 
> Unbetaed, barely edited, purely self-indulgent.

It’s been a hard week, so, when Thor shows up at the Compound, carrying a stack of six-packs half his gigantic height, it doesn’t take long for the Avengers scattered on the premises to assemble in the smaller common room, the one reserved for private gatherings of the tired superheroes looking for a bit of respite. Stark making Friday blear a looped message of “beer alert!” into all their comms surely helps a lot.

“I was led to believe this is something you mortals enjoy,” Thor booms pleasantly as he puts the booze on the low table in the middle of the room.

“Whoever told you that, they have my eternal gratitude,” Sam cheers, snatching a pack to himself and cradling it close to his chest. “Hush, babies,” he tells the clinking bottles, “daddy’s gonna take care of you, gonna care for you good.” He chooses a soft chair by the far wall of the room, between an enormous couch and a floor-to-ceiling window, and recedes into it, whispering more sweet nothings to the beer.

“Here,” Clint gestures at him with an already opened bottle in his hand, “you can observe a human male in desperate need of getting laid.”

Sam doesn’t dignify that with a reaction of any kind.

“What’s the occasion?” Nat asks, the slightest hint of habitual cautiousness in her eyes as she reaches to fetch a bottle for herself.

Thor feigns a hurt look. “Does a ruler of Asgard truly need a reason to pay a visit to his noble comrades?”

“Noble comrades!” Tony exclaims, picking up two bottles from one of the packs. “That’s an upgrade from puny mortals, don’t you think, everyone? What do we have to do to ascend to the next level? Which, by the way, would be what? Mighty mates? Sublime acquaintances? August dudes and lofty dudettes?” he keeps chattering as he settles into the farther corner of the couch and hands one of the bottles to Pepper, who’s already kicked off her heels to curl on the cushions, like a majestic wild cat.

“For you, I’d vote for a glorious pain in the ass,” Maria offers airily, flopping down next to Pepper. The women clink their bottles together and take a swig each, as Tony sputters indignantly.

“A well-earned title if I’ve ever heard one,” Clint nods gravely, perching on the couch arm, winking at Sam on his right, and placing his bottle on top of Tony’s head.

“You do know this is my building, right? All of you?”

“Aw, Tony, but you told us to make ourselves at home here,” Nat reminds him, pulling her face into an exaggerated pout.

“Exactly! At home. Like normal people, not a bunch of punks raised by raccoons in some back alley dumpster! Pepper, will you?..”

Pepper pats his knee, which could pass as a loving gesture, if not for the steel in her eyes when she looks at him. “Behave,“ she says simply, and there’s steel in her voice, too.

“Okay, okay, boss.” Tony sags into the couch, waving his hand in front of him. “Mock me whatever you want, please, be my guests, oh wait, you already are.” He catches Pepper’s hand before she can pinch his shoulder, brings it to his face, kisses her knuckles, and is instantly forgiven. Clint grunts his approval, lifting the bottle and leaning backwards to stretch along the curve of the couch. How the man can be comfortable while contorted like that remains a mystery to everyone.

“So, Thor,” Nat pipes up from where she has squeezed herself between Maria and the couch arm not currently covered by Clint. Nat’s eyes never left Thor as he crossed the room to lounge in the soft chair on the other side of the couch from Sam and his precious bottles, and she’s now scrutinizing the Asgardian from less than a foot away. A lesser man would have already caught on fire under that stare, but Thor keeps his face almost plausibly neutral. Nat presses on. “You were saying?”

“Er, was I?” Thor replies, too quickly.

“The reason. For your visit,” Nat elaborates, and her eyes harden.

Thor looks down, worries the hem of his Earth-disguise leather jacket. Everyone in the room tenses. They better not be on the verge of an interplanetary war or something. Thor should’ve at least brought something stronger than beer, were that the case.

Wanda perks up from her vantage spot on a rug by the beer-laden table, as her eyes flash red for a split second. “He quarreled with his brother,” she says, her quiet voice resonating eerily in the silence, which resolves instantly into a series of understanding ‘ah’s and sympathetic ‘oh’s.

“The tiny sorceress is right,” Thor admits with a sigh.

Everyone tips their bottles to him. Loki is definitely not an easy brother to deal with.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Steve says, nearly giving his friends a collective heart attack.

Tony is the first to regain his voice. “Cap? How long have you been lurking in the doorway? And, more importantly, why?!”

“Uh,” Steve explains, ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck in that helpless manner he gets when a situation doesn’t require punching, making him wonder what he’s doing there at all.

“Oh my god, please don’t, not the lost puppy look,” Tony flails, almost spilling his beer over himself. “Anybody lost a star-spangled captriever? No? Come on, people, at least tell him he’s a good boy, what is wrong with you, do any of you even have a heart?”

“You’re a good boy, Steve,” Maria obliges, with her trademark deadpan delivery.

“There, it wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Your caring works in mysterious ways,” Pepper whispers into Tony’s ear, while he preens.

Sam shifts in his chair, his forehead creasing slightly as he peers at Steve. He’s too far from the doorway, and he’s afraid that standing up to cross the entire room to check up on that giant idiot would come off as overbearing and only increase the awkwardness.

“Thank you, Steven,” Thor finally snaps out of his surprise. “And lest you think I have forgotten about you, here,” he adds, fishing a flask out of his jacket pocket. “This is the strongest mead that can be found on this plane of existence, old as the universe itself, infused with the tales of the bloodiest battles and fanciest feasts...”

“Yeah, okay, it’s superhuman booze, we get you,” Tony interrupts, offended by someone other than him saying more than ten words in a row.

Nat catches Steve’s eyes, rolls her eyes pointedly at Thor and Tony, then pats the couch arm next to her. Sam watches the silent conversation between her and Steve and lets out a sigh of relief when Steve unsticks himself from the doorframe and shuffles to the couch, accepting both Nat’s invitation and Thor’s flask. In celebration, Sam opens his second bottle and downs half of it in one long gulp.

“Just to clarify, Space Oddity,” Tony calls, leaning forward to look at Thor, “you did not quarrel with brother dearest because he’s planning another attack on this planet and you’re powerless to stop him?”

“Your world is in no immediate danger,” Thor assures him.

“So, some non-immediate danger?”

“Nothing of the kind.” Thor starts to sound exasperated. “My quarrel with my brother is of a private kind, and I do not wish to discuss it further.”

“Okay, cool, copy that,” Tony relents, throwing his hands up placatingly, then settling back into the cushions and dropping his head on Pepper’s shoulder. Her free hand flies up to ruffle his hair, and she places a little kiss to his temple.

Steve watches them as he sips from Thor’s flask, the mead gliding down his throat with an almost forgotten burn. Something twitches under his skin, something he’s buried so deep inside himself and so long ago, he doesn’t quite recognize it, is afraid to recognize it, wouldn’t know what to do if he does.

The beer keeps flowing, and the night moves smoothly around him. Clint somehow turns himself upside down on his perch, so his legs are thrown over the back of the couch and his head is hanging off the couch arm, tilted toward Sam. They talk of baseball and beer and marksmanship, punctuating their sentences with hearty guffaws and even heartier fistbumps. Tony weaves his arms around Pepper’s waist, buries his nose in her hair, seemingly content to just be there, sitting next to her, basking in her presence. It’s weird to see Tony stay silent for so long, but he looks peaceful and relaxed like he seldom is. Steve doesn’t understand why his fingers tighten around the space flask. He takes another sip, feels it pulse in his chest, right next to his heart, missing it by less than half of an inch.

After her third beer, Maria tucks her legs under her, and her knees touch Pepper’s. Nat turns her body to throw her arm around Maria, letting her rest her head on her shoulder. The three of them share stories about bothersome assignments, hectic weekends, terrible bosses. Tony mumbles in protest whenever he hears his name, but Pepper calms him down quickly, smoothing her hand over his hair, squeezing his arm, pressing her fingers to his. Steve brings the flask to his lips again.

Wanda nurses her drink, still not completely at ease in this company. Thor leans down to her and, with the grace of someone who grew up in a royal court, talks to her about the Mind Stone and the alien powers that come out of it. At first, Wanda is wary, then she listens attentively, and then she’s talking as well, eager and agitated, and then Thor’s on the rug with her, taking her hands in his, guiding her through what she can do, opening his mind to her, willingly this time, telling her stories about mind readers in Asgard.

“Mind readers, you say?” Clint turns to them, flips over so he’s lying on his stomach, arms crossed under his chin. “They use that thing that screwed with my brain?”

“There are more uses to that thing, as you call it,” Thor says and begins listing the more benign ones. “It can repair memories, soothe the turmoil of a broken soul, ease the torments of a haunted mind.”

Sam glides off his chair to join Thor and Wanda on the rug. It turns out, he has a lot of opinions about the ethics of mind reading and the pros and cons of using it in therapy, which become more and more emphatic as he nears the end of his fifth bottle. By the time Wanda finishes her beer, Sam is sprawled on the rug, as is she, her head resting on his knees.

The alien mead coils in the pit of Steve’s stomach, a pool of heat with fumes rising straight into his brain, clouding it with a soft comfortable daze. Distantly, he remembers: this is what being drunk feels like.

It’s not an unpleasant feeling, but something’s missing, and the thing under his skin roils impatiently. Beside him, Nat accompanies her story with passionate gestures, her left hand brushing against Steve’s leg. The sensation throws him off, sends goosebumps from the tips of his toes to the crown of his scalp. He takes two sips from the flask, and, as his head starts to swim, he realizes: there’s only one person alive who has seen him drunk, and he isn’t here to throw his arm around him, prop him up, mess up his hair, bump their shoulders together, carry him to his bed, engulf him with the solidity of his strong boundless body, let him dissolve into the layered haze of intoxication and pure tenderness.

That person hasn’t been here, with Steve, for a long long time. Steve doesn’t know where he is, doesn’t have the faintest idea. He’s never had anyone else, not that close, not since his Ma died, and his skin prickles with absence.

Unthinking, he catches Nat’s hand when it passes his thigh again. She stops mid-sentence, turns her head to look at him, her face open and mild.

“Yes, Steve?” she prompts, traces of laughter bubbling in her voice.

“Nat,” he says, naming her, placing her on the map of his overly convoluted life. “You’re my friend, right?” His words come out slurred. He hopes she gets him.

He needs her to get him.

She does.

“Of course I am,” she says, drawing her arm from under Maria to place her other hand over his. She squeezes his hand in hers, and his eyes water.

“You’re such a great friend,” he tells her, as his body tilts, keeps tilting until he’s falling over her, wrapping her in his arms, clutching at her warmth, her closeness, the reality of her here, on this couch, in this room.

“Whoa,” Sam gapes from the rug, trying to pull himself up, only to discover that his legs don’t work as well as before six bottles of beer.

If Nat’s taken aback by Steve’s embrace, she doesn’t show it, just scoots to the side to make space for him on the cushions. Which means Maria scoots further into Pepper, who presses herself into Tony, who has apparently dozed off, starting him awake. Tony squeaks and bumps Clint off his perch.

“Ow,” Clint says as he crashes face-first onto the floor, too drunk to regroup for a more graceful landing.

“Wasn’t me!” Tony blurts out instinctively at the thud, then starts whipping his head left and right, disoriented. “What? Who? What’s going on?” He stops blabbering the moment he notices Steve slumped around Nat on the other side of the couch.

“I’m so glad,” Steve mumbles into Nat’s hair, “so glad.” He isn’t making much sense, but what he’s trying to say is simple enough for everyone to understand, or so he hopes.

“Hm,” Tony says, uncharacteristically laconic.

Steve’s head snaps up and he focuses on something past Nat’s shoulder.

“Maria,” he says, stretching one of his arms to grasp Maria’s wrist. “You’re so cool,” he tells her, with feverish earnestness. “Don’t think I’ve told you. But you’re so, so cool. And Pepper!” He reaches for Pepper with his other arm, squashing Nat between himself and Hill. “Pepper,” he repeats, pulling his face into something that is probably supposed to look stern but is too loose around the edges. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

“O-okay, I think someone’s had enough,” Tony stands up abruptly and strides up to Steve, who is trying to explain to Pepper just how badass she truly is. “C’mon, Cap.” He puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder, trying to shake him out of wherever the alien liquor has taken him. “Let’s—”

Steve doesn’t let him finish the sentence.

“Tony!” He turns to him, clasps his hands over Tony’s hand on his shoulder.

“Um, guys,” Tony calls to the room without looking away from Steve. “I think something’s very wrong. Cap looks like he’s, um, genuinely happy to see me? That even possible? I think I can see stars in his eyes. You know, like that emoji? Is this an emergency? Should we call the police? Who’s responsible for dealing with an Avenger turning into an emoji? Is there a name for that? Weremoji? Cap, be honest with me for a sec. Are you a weremoji?”

“Tony.” Steve places his hands on Tony’s shoulders and pulls him down into a bear hug, as their friends exchange confused glances. “Howard would be so proud of you,” Steve tells Tony with a conviction that knocks Tony’s knees from under him. “I’m so proud of you,” he adds in a whisper, voice quivering with emotion, and Tony goes limp in his arms, not quite returning the hug, but not struggling against it either.

“I told you it was the strongest mead on this plane of existence,” Thor notes, bobbing his head up and down, amused by the curious effects of his gift.

“I think you’re missing the point,” Clint says with a strange look on his face. He has been watching the situation unfold from over the couch arm, his sharp gaze thoughtful but not concerned.

Sam crawls across the floor to crouch at Steve’s legs and peer at him from below.

“That point being?” he asks, while Steve’s busy praising Stark aloud and to his face, something no one ever thought possible, least of all Tony himself.

“It’s not the drink,” Wanda says, hushed, her eyes large and round, no trace of red in them.

“‘M not a mind reader, so how about a follow-up on that?” Sam asks, as he tries to get a glimpse of Steve’s face, which is buried in Tony’s suit.

“I’m not reading his mind,” Wanda mutters and glides across the rug to kneel next to Steve’s legs on the other side of Sam. Carefully, she puts her hand on Steve’s calf, lets it just stay there.

Steve hums at the touch, the sound reverberating through the entire room, like the world’s mightiest purr. His hand drops from Tony’s back and he leans down, grasping blindly for Wanda, crushing Tony to the floor where he sits back, blinking, cradled between Steve’s legs.

“Wanda,” Steve says, recognizing her as another concrete dot on his messed-up timeline, a beacon to guide him home safely, and he can’t believe how many of those he actually has, right here, in this very room. “Wanda, you’re so strong,” he tells her, and she pulls herself up, puts her chin on his thigh, lets him stroke her hair. “So so strong,” Steve repeats, his face splitting into a smile, silly and brilliant and beautifully unabashed.

“Oh my god,” Maria whispers, hand pressed to her chest, and she looks back at Pepper, who nods, eyes wet and bright.

“Look at him,” Pepper sniffles, flinging her hands up in a whirl of feelings.

As everyone looks, Steve notices Sam by his other leg and folds himself in half to wrap his free arm around him, practically oozes down the couch in a puddle of unbridled affection. Just as with the others, he calls Sam by his name, and it’s such a powerful mixture of yearning and hope and sheer joy, that it hits Sam even through the six-beer fog, so he finally understands.

“Oh,” he says and presses his forehead into whatever part of Steve is closest to him.

“I’m so happy to’ve met you,” Steve croons, as his friends go through another round of ‘oh’s and ‘ah’s of the night.

“How the hell did we miss _that_?” Tony asks, stretching his hand forward to gingerly muss Steve’s hair. Steve leans into it so fiercely, he almost topples over, and Tony swears he can hear hearts break all around the room. He knows his certainly does.

“Okay, big guy,” Nat says, placing her hands on Steve’s back and nudging him up. “Let’s get you nice and comfortable.”

Tony stands up, taking his hand off Steve’s head, and Steve whines a little at that, but Nat is already murmuring something soothing into his ear, hands sliding up and down his endless back.

Glancing between each other, Nat, Tony, Pepper, and Maria set to maneuver Steve across the couch. He is liquid and boneless under their hands, with compliments and confessions spilling out of him whenever his eyes focus on someone.

“I think I like squishy Cap,” Tony announces, as he slides down on the couch next to Nat, who arranges Steve’s feet over Tony’s knees. Pepper is cradling Steve’s head in her lap, while Maria is kneading Steve’s shoulders and Nat is holding Steve’s left hand tightly in hers, as her other hand glides over his legs. After a little thought, Tony starts rubbing Steve’s feet lightly and is rewarded with another superhuman purr. “Seriously, people,” Tony says, shaking his head, moved to the point where quips and sarcasm don’t make any sense anymore. “This is gold.”

Steve’s right arm hangs down, and Sam drapes it over his chest, twining his fingers with Steve’s as he settles on the rug with his back to the couch. Wanda curls into a loose ball next to him and rests her head on the cushions, the top of her head pressing into Steve’s thigh.

Clint reaches from behind the couch arm to put his hand on Steve’s shoulder, and Steve immediately turns his head to nuzzle Clint’s forearm.

“Clint!” he says, and his voice sounds so impossibly young, every breath in the room hitches. “You’re so,” Steve continues, fumbling for words through the glimmering mist in his head. “Oh, you’re so… so Clint!” he finishes and laughs into Clint’s arm, warm and honest.

“Well said,” Clint observes, then boops Steve on the nose.

“Oh my god, did you hear that giggle?” Tony throws one hand in the air, delighted, as he cuddles Steve’s feet into his belly with the other one. “I mean, that was just precious, wasn’t it?” Everyone hums their agreement. “Okay, it’s official. Mushy Cap is the best Cap.”

“I love you, Tony,” Steve mumbles, the fondness rolling off him in waves. “And you, Nat, and you, Maria, and…” He goes around the entire room a few times before unraveling into a string of incomprehensible, but unmistakably affectionate noises.

“We love you too, buddy,” Sam tells him, while everyone else is busy solving the problem of dabbing at their eyes without using their hands, because letting go of Steve even for a second feels like a crime right now.

Thor stands up from the rug, where he’s been sitting cross-legged for the whole time, lost in his own thoughts as he observed the humans let their guards down to care for each other the best they can.

“My brother,” he begins, walking up to the tangle of bodies around the couch. “He has taken to turning himself into Steven whenever I try to talk to him. I thought it was his way of avoiding me.” He bends down to splay a hand across Steve’s cheek, smiles gently as Steve leans into it eagerly, cherishing the contact. “Perhaps, my brother understands you better than I ever understood him.”

“Thor,” Steve murmurs into Thor’s palm. “You’re kind, so kind. You’re a good brother.”

“I wasn’t,” Thor corrects him. “But I will try to be.” He straightens up. “If you will excuse me, I need to attend to my brother now.”

The announcement is received with a chorus of encouraging noises and good luck wishes.

“Oh, and Steven?” Thor calls back from the door. “You can keep the flask.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, which is more an abstract burble of gratitude than human language, but Thor gets him nevertheless.

The thing under Steve’s skin buzzes happily, a steady sated rumble, and he soaks up the warmth, the kindness, the love, lets himself see it, believe it, accept it, be enveloped in it.

He’s been mourning his past so diligently, it never occurred to him that he didn’t have to stay a stranger in this new time, to these new people. As he longed for a touch long gone, he kept missing what was right there in front of him, passing up his claim to a treasure that was his all along.

Now that his friends know, they probably won’t let him get away with it ever again.

Steve’s last conscious thought, as he melts into a gentle haze of everything that is soft and good in the world, is that he’s totally okay with that.

***

The next morning, Steve is woken up by a knock on the door of his room. He rolls out of his bed, his body still thrumming with the euphoria of the last night, his head delightfully clear, and his heart so full it’s a wonder it manages to stay in his chest.

He finds a robot on his doorstep, a little thing, barely reaching his waist. It has thin, grasshopperish legs, a slim shiny body, a friendly-looking round head, and its two upper appendages are disproportionately long and padded with something soft and velvety.

“It’s a hugging robot,” Tony explains, stepping forward and gesturing toward the robot. “You can call him Shnooky. Or Huggies. Or whatever you want. Here, look.” He pushes the robot lightly in Steve’s direction. It teeters a bit, then ambles to Steve and wraps its padded arms around Steve’s legs, making adorable tiny beeps along the way.

Steve pats the robot on its head, speechless. His cheeks flush.

“Or, you know, you can also, well. Just ask. With words, that is,” Tony adds and puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder. Steve moves to duck his head in his usual embarrassment, shakes it instead, covers Tony’s hand with his, looks him straight in the eye.

“Thanks,” he says, feeling his face break into a wide smile, loving the feeling.

“Yeah, well.” Tony gives Steve’s shoulder a few pats. “Anyway. Just in case no one’s around.” He gestures toward the robot again.

“Got it,” Steve nods and pulls Tony into a hug.

“Not what I meant,” Tony grumbles, muffled by Steve’s bulk. “But also kinda exactly what I meant, yes. You big dumb labradork,” he chides, as his arms wind around Steve’s back as far as he can reach.

***

What Tony doesn’t tell Steve is that the robot comes with an app. The app features a group chat and is set to send a notification whenever Rogers is using the hugging robot. It’s called, cryptically enough, _Operation Cuddles_ , and it’s already been downloaded by seven people. When Thor learns about it, he demands that Stark develops an Asgard-compatible version, which is how the app gets downloaded the eighth time.

If Steve suspects anything when his friends start to pop up at his door, armed with blankets and ready to snuggle the shit out of him, every time he’s on the verge of collapsing into the bottomless pit of loneliness and despair, he doesn’t complain.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is [retweetable](https://twitter.com/need_more_meta/status/1296154975597465600) and [rebloggable](https://need-more-meta.tumblr.com/post/615840663518511104/give-this-man-a-hug-needmoremeta-marvel)!
> 
> If you see something you like, let me know! I'd love to hear what you think. :3
> 
> And come meet me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/need_more_meta) and/or [Tumblr](https://need-more-meta.tumblr.com/) where I flail about my fandom faves, flail about my fic writing, and flail about everything, really. <3


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